


Nothing is fair in love and war.

by dustyrest



Category: APH - Fandom, Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: History, M/M, WWII
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:10:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyrest/pseuds/dustyrest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in WWII.<br/>A young pilot Gilbert Beilchsmidt's plane is shot down in eastern Switzerland. When he lands his burning plane, he is surprised to find a camp of Russians waiting for him across the border in Austria. He is overtaken and brought to the camp to be questioned, when the commanding officer, one Ivan Braginski, claims to want to question the man himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When a soldier becomes a victim.

**Author's Note:**

> Rough, rough, rough draft.

Night was supposed to be a dark, quiet, peaceful time, but tonight was lit up with bright flashes of fire, the screaming of a failing engine, and explosions. The night was hell. Rain slashed against his plane as Gilbert Beilschmidt struggled illegally across Switzerland. He cursed as his plane, which he’d named ‘Letta’ and was rather attached to, was shot at.

“I might as well be participating in the fucking Kamikaze!” He hissed through clenched teeth in German. He hated this assignment - he had known it was a stupid one and he had argued on his own behalf, but he wasn’t listened to. Being one of the best and most talented pilots the German Air Force had had its rewards, but, as everything does, it also came with a price.

Boom!

Gilbert was torn from his thoughts. Letta lurched to the left, and so did Gilbert’s body as the plane was shot at from one side. He felt his stomach rise to his mouth as the plane took a huge fall. Strong, sweaty hands gripped at the controls as Gilbert tried to keep his plane under control. He’d have to land. With teeth pressed into his lower lip, Gilbert clung to his plane and wide, red eyes searched for a safe place- no, any place to land.

Seconds grew into minutes as he frantically searched. He sucked in smoke through his nostrils. Letta was on fire. Land, land, land. There was a loud crash. Gilbert hit his head, and he was no longer flying.

 

A tall, slim, pale man clad in the Luftwaffe uniform of Germany’s Air Force stepped from his burning plane. His eyes were wild, and even after his violent crash, he looked ready to defend himself. He straightened his grey-green cap on his head, and then held his arms in a tense position in front of his chest. Red eyes darted about in search of something to attack. He must’ve been shot down by the Swiss, yes? They shot down any Allied or Axis plane that flew over their country, but did they attack and take prisoners as well?

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed as they caught the sight of movement. The silhouette of a man, many men, and before he could count how many there were, there were large men clad in Russian uniforms at him.

Kicking and fighting as he was bound up in ropes. He was beaten many times in the head until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor English received help from Riley.


	2. Victim - Of war, or of another sort of reasoning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert's new fate. 
> 
> Ivan - an important commanding officer with a brilliant knack for torture and the likes, finds Gilbert to be an interesting character and thinks he can use him to benefit his studies. He wants to pull information from him, because Gilbert seems like a useful tool. But, to Ivan's own disbelief, he finds himself growing attached to his prisoner, and almost, maybe, fond of him. He becomes unwilling to let others hurt or have him. He fights with himself as he comes to terms with his feelings.

When he awoke, Gilbert was in total darkness. The only thing even remotely visible to him was the silhouette of a tall, broad shouldered man. Where the Hell was he?! He felt his hair tickling his face as it fell over his eyes, indicating that his cap had fallen off or been stolen. His hair was also prickled at the tips, matted with dried blood. Though he couldn't see it, the contrast of snowy white hair, streaked with red blood was pretty - at least to the tall man in front of Gilbert. Gilbert tried to brush his hair from his face, but he could not. His wrists were tied together behind his back with thick ropes with loose little points that were digging into his skin with each of his little movements. Ropes also went around his body, pinning his arms tightly against him behind his body, and his legs were roped together as well. He was completely restricted.

"Вы говорите по-русски?" A rather soft, deep voice called out. Gilbert's head lifted quickly up, and his eyes hardened as they tried to set on the figure in front of him. "Вы говорите по-русски?" The voice asked him again. Gilbert didn't understand. "Ich kann Sie nicht verstehen." He said in a voice that sounded sharp, worn. There was a grunt from the other man.  
"Do you speak English?" He asked. Gilbert understood.  
"Yes." He answered. The man in front of him smiled, and then bent his knees to be at Gilbert's height where he sat on the floor. He grabbed his chin, and Gilbert hissed. "Tell me your name." The Russian said.  
"Beilschmidt."

"Beilschmidt." The Russian man repeated, mispronouncing his name horribly and making the German cringe. "What's your first name?"  
"Gilbert." He answered dryly. He had a scowl on his face. He had to think. How was he going to make his escape? It was so hard to think through the sharp, constant pounding in his head. "What are Russians doing here, in Switzerland?"  
"What are Germans doing in Switzerland?" The Russian turned the question back on him, and Gilbert hissed in agitation. "I'm guessing you are-" The Russian man was cut off when the door to the room they were in was abruptly opened, and a large man stepped in. Artificial light poured into the previously dark room, and Gilbert turned his head sharply to one side and shut his eyes. Something was shouted in Russian to 'Ivan' - that must be the name of the man with him, Gilbert thought - it sounded like a question, and then Ivan replied. The two had a short conversation, and then the man at the door left. He returned moments later with a lamp, and lit it up. Then he closed the door again and left. 

Gilbert could have a good look at the man with him now. He was tall, and large, with a broad chest and shoulders, and huge, muscular arms. His nose was large, and Gilbert thought that it took up the better half of his face. He had soft, sandy coloured hair, and violet eyes.  
"Ah, that was the commanding officer. He and a few other men were going to question you, but, I asked them if I could do it myself."

Ivan went to one side of the room, then, and grabbed a chair. He pulled it in front of Gilbert and it made an awful scraping sound against the floor which was torment to Gilbert's headache. "Tonight, after my things are packed, we are going back to Russia. Siberia, in fact. I'm sure you Germans have heard of it." Gilbert tried not to look horrified, but his expression was easy to read. Disobedient man were sent there on impossible missions almost entirely for the purpose of dying. Ivan continued to speak. "As a very important man, I get to have my own home, as well as an office for working space, and, well, an extension on my property to use for special purposes." He sounded almost childishly pleased with himself, and it made Gilbert's stomach turn. Despite, he forced himself into a (half) steady, and cold voice.  
"What special purposes?" He coughed out. Ivan seemed delighted to be be approached with questioning about that.  
"Why, extracting information, of course." He said in the same childish, sickening tone. "I think I'll be able to get more information out of you than the other men I'm working with here. They're fools, the half of them, and anyway, I work better on my own." Ivan was oblivious to the fact that that was because he was difficult to get along with. Gilbert had the strong urge to tell this 'Ivan' that he would not be able to pry any information from him, no matter what he did, but he knew that that would not be wise. His temper and argumentative tendencies had gotten him in trouble before, but at least Gilbert knew how to learn from his mistakes. So, he kept quiet and continued trying to devise ideas to aid him in his escape. He had to escape. The albino's red eyes flashed towards Ivan again when he heard movement coming form his direction. The Russian man was standing again.

"I am going to see if things are all packed and ready now." He told Gilbert. He turned then to leave the room before mockingly adding, "Don't go anywhere," as if Gilbert possibly could. The Russian laughed at his own words and then left the room, switching off the light and closing the door.

Gilbert was alone and in total darkness once again. He cursed and tried to move about in the binds that held him all together, and cursed when there was pain. He bit his lip, and felt the bite mark he had made on his lip in the plane as he was rushing to the ground. He closed his eyes, and there was no difference in how much light or darkness he saw. Despite the pain of it all, he continued to try to tug away at the rough ropes. He was sure that there would be bruises marring his pretty, white skin in long lines when he took off his uniform. All of his working and fighting and fidgeting about was so draining, and Gilbert was tiring fast. He stopped his struggling eventually and let out an aggravated sound which passed through the empty, lonely room in an almost chilling way. Gilbert had to save his energy. Gilbert had to think. Where was Letta? She must still be where he'd crashed her. With luck, she'd be found and other pilots with whom he was affiliated, and he'd be rescued. Gilbert was confident in the fact that people would notice that he was missing, he was important, but how soon was a matter he couldn't pinpoint at all. His mission could take a large amount of time, so his not contacting anyone may appear normal for several days.

Ivan entered the room, and Gilbert was so deep in thought that when the door was opened and the light poured in, it frightened him and he let out a startled sound. He saw Ivan smile when he heard that, and he gave a soft chuckle. "It's time to go, Gilbert."

Gilbert was then lifted up to his feet he Ivan's large, calloused hands reaching under his arms. Gilbert struggled slightly, despite how cold he was, and the pain it put him it. He was walked outside into the cool night, and a blindfold was suddenly put over his eyes by another man. 

"Don't worry Gilbert. We just can't let you see where things are set up, you see." Ivan said. 

Gilbert fidgeted his arms about and opened and closed his hands, making little grunts in protest. He moved the muscles on his face, his brows, his nose, his cheeks, to try to remove, or at least loosen the blindfold to he could shake it off. 

"No. Stop that." Ivan said in a displeased sounding voice. He hit Gilbert on the side of his face without warning, and the albino's head went spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Вы говорите по-русски? - Do you speak Russian?  
> Ich kann Sie nicht verstehen. - I can't understand you.

**Author's Note:**

> Kamikaze: (神風?, literally: "Spirit wind"; common translation: "Divine wind") [kamikaꜜze] ( listen), official name: Tokubetsu Kōgekitai (特別攻撃隊 literally: "Special attack unit"?), abbreviated as Tokkō Tai (特攻隊?) and used as a verb as Tokkō (特攻?) ("special attack"): suicide attacks by military aviators from the Empire of Japan against Allied naval vessels in the closing stages of the Pacific campaign of World War II.
> 
> Luftwaffe: the aerial warfare branch of the German Wehrmacht during World War II.


End file.
